


A Bit of Light

by Hope



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-26
Updated: 2002-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn tends to Frodo between Weathertop and Rivendell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit of Light

**Author's Note:**

> This was written deliberately without slash (for the FrodoHealers yahoogroup), although this is probably for the best with the whole Aragorn/Arwen thing. Though I guess you *could* read slash into this, if you really wanted to . . .

Seeping through the damp foliage and scarcely discernible from the wind, the low moan raised the hairs on the back of Aragorn's neck. He hastily pocketed the small bouquet of white flowers he had gathered before hurrying back to the makeshift camp.

The three younger hobbits were sleeping where they had fallen, exhaustion from their hectic pace marring their innocent faces. Frodo let out another moan, barely audible, and Aragorn fell to his knees before the prone figure, laying his hand briefly on the hobbit's forehead before drawing a flint and tinder box from a nearby discarded saddlebag and arranging a sparse fire.

"Strider . . ." came the brief whisper and Aragorn turned from tending the tiny fingers of flame. Frodo's face gleamed, the warm hue of the firelight doing nothing to banish the greyish tint of his too-pale skin.

"Shh, Frodo . . ." soothed the ranger, tucking the mass of blankets closer around the hobbit before turning back to the fire. "I'm just boiling some more athelas now. It will help with the pain."

Listening to Frodo's shaky breath, Aragorn briefly warred within himself - a larger fire would heat the water more quickly, and provide the hobbit with more warmth, and yet it would draw unwanted attention to them . . . _unwanted attention? They must be close enough now to feel the ring, even if it isn't being worn. They could attack at any time. But they won't. They've no need to, now . . ._ He shook his head harshly to banish the thought

Roughly stripping away the leaves and flowers from the stems, he cast the athelas into the simmering water.. Immediately a strong, aromatic scent rose up from the brew, the steam clinging to Aragorn's face and permeating the air around the campsite. Sam, the closest hobbit besides Frodo, sighed in his sleep and muttered something about flowerbeds and roasted taters, Mr Frodo sir.

"S-s-so cold . . ." Frodo whispered. Aragorn frowned, leaning closer to examine the hobbit as he waited for the athelas infusion to brew properly. Frodo's skin still had a pale, bluish sheen to it - almost seeming transparent enough to see the veins beneath the skin of his face.

Deciding he couldn't wait any longer, the ranger took out a soft piece of cloth from the saddleback and soaked it briefly before wringing it out and bathing Frodo's face with it. The hobbit seemed to calm a little as Aragorn stroked the cloth over him. His breathing slowed and steadied, the shivering hitches becoming less and less frequent. His eyes slid shut.

"There now," the ranger murmured, ceasing the movement momentarily, cupping the side of Frodo's face and examining him intently. He looked better than he had. Frodo's eyes fluttered open again, struggling to focus on Aragorn's face, hovering above his own.

A frown tensed his brows. "Strider . . ." he murmured hoarsely.

"What is it, Frodo?" the ranger asked gently.

"Why did you stop?"

Aragorn chuckled briefly - _yes, definitely better_ \- re-soaking the cloth again and soothing it over Frodo's brow. Frodo sighed in approval, settling back again, but his comfort was short lived. The cloth was warm in the cold night air, and Frodo breathed too deeply - a harsh, tearing cough sunk its claws into his chest and shook him violently as he choked on the heady steam.

Hurriedly Aragorn drew Frodo up into a sitting position, and the hobbit struggled briefly, writhing between the sudden pain of movement in his shoulder and the need to breathe. Crouching and leaning into the hobbit, the ranger firmly rubbed Frodo's back - careful to avoid the wound - until the heaving subsided and Frodo's head was heavy and damp on his shoulder. Shifting slightly, he found the discarded cloth and shook it out briefly before smoothing away hair to stroke it on the back of Frodo's neck.

Aragorn felt the shiver-induced tension in the hobbit's body ease slightly under his soothing hands, and Frodo slumped closer against him and let out a groan.

"Strider . . ." he gasped shallowly, and the ranger stopped, feeling the twitching of muscles as Frodo tried futilely to move. Aragorn shifted him slightly away, and the hobbit's head lolled. "It's so dark . . . dizzy . . . I need . . . need to lie down again . . ."

As he carefully lowered the limp body down, Aragorn's brow tightened in concern. He peered down into Frodo's face again. The hobbit's eyes were wide and dark, pupils dilated even with the light of the meagre flames beating against them, and they seemed to make no attempt to focus on him as he moved closer. The night was dark enough, yes, but the light of the fire - small as it was - banished it to a shadowy circle around the campsite.

Frodo's shivering breath hitched and he closed his eyes.

"The shadows . . ." he muttered almost inaudibly. "They draw closer . . ."

"Easy, Frodo," Aragorn murmured soothingly, retrieving the steaming athelas brew from the fire. "There'll be no shadows while I'm here with you."

He set the pot by Frodo's shoulder then shifted a little, leaning over the hobbit's upper body and casting his cloak over the two of them, the rough tent that soon filling with the aromatic steam. Frodo coughed softly, grimacing in pain, then relaxed slightly as his breathing eased even further.

"There now," Aragorn said after a while. "Better?"

Frodo opened his eyes and gave a tiny, weary smile, lips cracking. "Yes," he whispered. "But I'm still q-quite cold . . ." As if to prove his words, a shudder ran through his body, chattering his teeth.

Aragorn frowned briefly. Already Frodo was swaddled in layers of clothing and blankets - and no more could be spared. Sam of course would give up his own bedding without hesitation, as would Frodo's cousins . . . But the ranger's medical skills were being tested enough as it was without having to deal with cases of exposure.

Removing the rapidly cooling pot of athelas brew, Aragorn moved to the hobbit's side furthest from the fire and lowering himself to lie on the ground beside Frodo. Shifting closer, the ranger drew Frodo to his chest. The hobbit gave a small gasp of pain as the ranger eased him into his arms, drawing him closer until Frodo's back was to the fire, his face pressed into the ranger's chest and shoulder, head pillowed on Aragorn's arm. With his free hand, Aragorn settled the large cloak around the smaller body, tucking it tightly under him so the small body had as little contact with the icy ground as possible. He secured his arms firmly around Frodo, leaning his head down to breathe into the hobbit's hair, and Frodo was completely enveloped.

"Better?" asked the ranger, his warm breath stirring the dark curls slightly.

"Mmph."

"How's the pain?"

"Mmph."

Smiling slightly, Aragorn concentrated on being as still as possible, loathe to cause any undue strain on the wounded shoulder. He felt Frodo's shivers gradually subside and his breathing even out and deepen.

Good. The hobbit needed rest. The elvish medicine of Rivendell may be the only remedy to save Frodo's life, but Aragorn knew poison took hold a lot quicker in a cold, weary body.

The ranger sighed softly. His instincts still screamed at him that his position was an unsafe one. Should a foe approach their campsite - which would be incredibly easy to find, with its beacon-fire - Aragorn would be unable to detect it until the last minute, inward-facing and blinded as he was by the light of the fire, and even if he could, his prone and entangled position would make it near impossible to stand and draw his sword before the enemy was upon them.

_But they won't attack. They know they don't need to. Not now that they've - _

"Strider?"

"What is it, Frodo? You should try and sleep."

"I know, but . . . I can't. The pain . . ."

"Is it this position? If it is causing you more pain I can lie you on your back again."

"No. It hurts worse when I'm colder. I fear it won't abate any more than this."

The ranger brought his hand around to firmly cup Frodo's head, the heel of his palm resting at the nape of the hobbit's neck and his fingers delving into his hair and curling around his skull. He massaged Frodo's scalp gently, offering as much comfort as possible. The hobbit sighed.

"Can you . . . will you tell me a story, Strider? Some . . . Something elvish?" he whispered softly. "Only, it's so dark, and quiet, and the quieter it gets, the more I think I can hear their cries . . . hear them calling . . ." The hobbit's voice trailed off.

"Of course, Frodo."

Humming softly to banish the silence, Aragorn gently lowered his hand, rubbing Frodo's back as he sifted through his memories of elvish tales. He grimaced slightly. The elves were renowned for their beauty, not their cheerfulness; their grace, not their homely comfort. Beauty and grace. He smiled unconsciously, the movement of his hand on Frodo's back growing more tender.

"Aragorn." The name brought him back to the present, and he realised Frodo had been calling "Strider?" for long moments.

"Forgive me, I was . . . trying to recall a tale."

He felt the dry curve of Frodo's smile against his collarbone, then the violent heat of breath as the hobbit was racked with another cough. The ranger held him gently, shifting him slightly to ease the pressure on his lungs, then drew the shivering body into him again.

Frodo's panting breath filled the small camp for several moments, then eased enough for him to speak again.

"What was that you were humming? I don't think I've heard it before. Is it elvish?"

Aragorn smiled again, this time remembering another hobbit, head held high despite his tiny physical stature amongst the tall elves of Rivendell's Hall of Fire. He almost chuckled, remembering Gandalf's description: _"Hobbits, I think you'll find, are quite remarkable. Bagginses especially are uncommonly curious."_

But what had he been humming? Was it? - ah. Yes. He hummed the simple melody again and it filled his mouth like something thick and sweet. Filled his mouth and his memory.

But why not? It wasn't exactly cheerful, or homely . . . but it wasn't a dirge either. Smiling softly and closing his eyes, Aragorn sang.

His voice rose softly like river-mist in the pre-dawn, an ethereal breath that curled around the sleeping figures, making the tiny glow of the fire seem cool and bland in comparison to its pure brightness. Frodo relaxed in his arms, but he barely felt it as the melody drew him higher, deeper into the night sky, the stars alighting on his skin and warming him.

Gradually he sank down again, back to earth, back to awareness as the song ended on one long, anticipatory note that left an eager thrumming in his veins.

"Undómiel . . ." Frodo whispered breathlessly into his chest. "Night star?"

"Even star." Aragorn smiled softly in remembrance, his hands once more resuming their gentle ministrations over Frodo's back. The hobbit shivered briefly.

"Ai, I desire . . ." he murmured sleepily, and Aragorn felt a slight movement as Frodo tightened his arms about himself, then relaxed again. Aragorn buried a hand into the dark curls to support Frodo's head as it finally lolled, the other hand pressing lightly on the hobbit's tiny back to ascertain . . . Yes. He smiled, feeling the even, regular movement of Frodo's deep breathing.

The ranger sighed, allowing himself - somewhat grudgingly, but with the excuse that the younger hobbits (not to mention Frodo) needed it - a few more moments rest, watching the gradual lightening of the sky as the sun rose, unseen, in the east.

They were six days from Rivendell.

* * *

O môr henion i dhû:  
Ely siriar, él síla  
Ai! Aníron Undómiel

Tiro! Êl eria e môr.  
I 'lír en él luitha 'uren  
Ai! Aníron...

From darkness I understood the night:  
Dreams flow, a star shines  
Ah! I desire Evenstar

Look! A star rises out of the darkness  
The song of the star enchants my heart  
Ah! I desire...

\- Taken from the Fellowship of the Ring movie soundtrack ("Aníron", lyrics by Roma Ryan, performed by Enya)


End file.
